


Scars Beneath The Surface

by theglamourfades



Category: Mr. Selfridge (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, F/M, Partner Betrayal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 19:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16817038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theglamourfades/pseuds/theglamourfades
Summary: Kitty comes to terms with the changes brought by one terrible night, as well as a shock she never expected to encounter. Kitty x Frank, set during 3.4/3.5 and afterwards. Slight trigger warning for S3 content.





	Scars Beneath The Surface

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to explore Kitty (and Frank)'s S3 storyline in a little more detail, expanding a bit on what we saw on screen and also perhaps finding an explanation for a couple of things. I could have wrote this vastly differently, but as it was I wanted to stay quite close to the canon and so remain in character of what was seen. It's not perfect by any stretch of the definition, but hopefully it will ring true in a sense.
> 
> This covers 3.4, 3.5 and a bit past that (but not 3.6, as I thought that was quite a good 'conclusion'). There's nothing too graphic in the way of recollection, but regardless, there's a trigger warning for S3 content.

The room was warm, the comforter cushioning her palms vastly different to the starched sheets from hours before. Even so, the soft silk couldn't get past the rawness that she perceived with every inch of her. She couldn't quite remember what she had done with her hands – whether she'd used them to fight, or if they'd been used against her. Her right wrist was sore. Everything was sore, her head most of all.

She daren't raise her hand to the place just above the nape of her neck, where the sting seemed most apparent now. They'd patched her up well before saying she could go. She had stared blankly, nodding in the appropriate pauses as he spoke thanks for both of them.

Darkness obscured her vision, the scent of lotions and perfume coming up stronger, the things that confirmed for her where she was. A flash of silvery light brought her shadow wide upon the wall and she jumped at the sharp swish of the curtains, unexpected in the silence.

"Bring a bit of air in," he started, tentatively.

She made out his face better, and saw that though his eyes were soft they still held uncertainty. It had been a shock. His half-smile didn't fit his mouth properly, and though he was looking at her his gaze didn't seem to reach her fully. She'd been hollowed out, suddenly, and he, along with the moonlight that had spilled into the room, fell straight through her.

He sat next to her, edging a little closer when she didn't flinch away.

"Why don't you lie down, my love? Rest properly."

She shook her head, digging her nails firmer where they were clamped upon the bed. Blind fear ran the length of her, collecting in a tight knot in her throat.

She was glad that she'd been taught never to stay quiet. But it hadn't been enough to make them leave her alone.

His head bowed from the corner of her eye, solemn as he remembered what he couldn't know.

She was shivering despite the warmth of the room, her soiled coat discarded in the hallway. His touch was welcomed upon her through the barrier of his suit jacket, the sleeves draping from her shoulders, and she smiled sincerely up at him for a minute where she had almost forgotten.

It had brought from some untouched corner of her mind a summer's night, dancing and laughing and dancing some more. She'd been so carried away that she had forgotten to pick up her coat afterwards, and the air after the sun had gone down surprised her with its chill. He took off his jacket without question, and Kitty held her breath, fascinated with the creases running down his shirt sleeves, the shining buttons holding his waistcoat in place. He brought her wandering gaze back upwards with his thumb underneath her chin and she let out a laugh at being caught. His hand moved just as keenly as his eyes upon her cheek, the brush of his fingertips making her feel warmer than on any blazing hot day. Frank leaned in, pausing for a moment or two, and she didn't stop the arch of her neck backwards as he kissed her, his hand remaining tender on her skin.

He was able to see her just as well as she could see him, and her stomach twisted, taking her gaze away from him. The red line that ran deep, a visible mark of the night that had barely passed but now would always remain etched upon her, body and mind and soul. She could feel his eyes upon her even with her head turned away and the guilt within her reached its peak.

His hand settled lower, upon her shoulder. There felt sore too, but she wouldn't let it show. They wouldn't take away what was right, what she always loved. She wanted to be held by him long enough that she wouldn't recall any other phantom hands upon her.

"I'm glad that we're home," she mumbled. "I'm glad that you came."

"Of course I did," he replied without hesitation. "I stopped listening as soon as Harry said you were at the hospital. The phone slipped from my hand, I was sure I'd broken it but I couldn't give a damn. I never thought..."

"Neither did I," she answered, her voice echoing shrill and small in the silence. She willed herself not to think, not to feel, but it proved impossible.

He looked at her remorsefully, reached to the untouched side of her face.

"Thank god you're safe," he said, stroking her cheek with the barest touch. "That nothing..."

His voice stopped, and her mouth went dry. She knew what would have happened if Mr Selfridge hadn't intervened. She blocked it out the best she could, but the horror lingered, would keep her wide awake for many nights to come and send her ready to strike with the slightest glance sent her way.

The silence was deafening and it made her restless, wanting to run far away. Her fingers gripped tighter onto Frank's arm, and he covered her hand with his.

"After we've called the police in the morning, can you take my coat to the cleaners?" She knew it was a ridiculous thing to be worried about, but at the same time it soothed her. At least it was something that could be salvaged.

"There's no rush, you know," he said pointedly, though his words remained gentle. "Give it time, a few days maybe. You might find that you think a little clearer."

A fire rose up within her again, and she was pleased that it hadn't been extinguished.

"What if it happens again, to someone else?" She thought of Connie, safe and sleeping sound in the next room, and her blood curdled.

"I don't suspect Harry will stand for them hanging around."

She watched his expression shift, having realised he'd said a careless thing.

The ache against her ribcage made it difficult for her to draw breath, and she heaved out her words with a sigh that refused to be defeated, no matter how wretched she felt.

"I won't wait, Frank. I can't close my eyes until I know something's being done." She couldn't keep the steel cast over her gaze, shuddering as her lip began to tremble harder. "I can't rest."

She slumped against his shoulder, her tears soaking fast into his shirt, the salt staining her lips. His hand soothed down her back slowly and he held her to him, letting her cry against him once more.

"There's a few hours yet, my love," he said in a whisper upon her hair. "Let's try."

And so they both sat watching and waiting for the sun to start its rise, falling into fitful sleep with the unfulfilled hope of the night that was passing being erased by morning resting between them.

* * *

She'd taken longer than normal getting herself ready for the day. There was no hurry, not with not being needed at the store. She bathed for nearing an hour, washing her hair, rinsing off her arms. Laying completely still. No matter what, all the soap in the world seemed unable to get rid of the dirt that had climbed beneath. She slid down against the porcelain, holding her breath for a minute, maybe longer. She was good at that as a child. The water lapped against her, rising over and above her, and she emerged with a gasp, dizzy and panicked, the world spinning and swirling and so unclear, all so suddenly.

The floor was soaked, and she sighed as she reached for a towel to mop up the mess, her hands still shaking as her skin itched.

She dressed in something suitable, picked up the brush to comb her curls into place. It held in suspension in her hand, and she breathed for what felt like the first time in hours.

There was no escaping it. The light seemed to fall precisely where the scar cut across her cheek, allowing for no disguise or apology.

She put the brush down onto the dresser, instead holding her fingers to her face, turning her head more fully into the mirror. Anger had left her, sorrow was too deep to be true at this very instant. Rather shamedly, vanity rose up. Only a few days ago she was the face of Selfridges, flashbulbs exploding against her. Nobody would take her proclamations of beauty seriously any longer.

Nobody would find her _beautiful_ , not when they saw her again. Not when they knew what had happened.

She found that she wasn't alone with her reflection, exhaling with surprise and a touch of regret.

"They're downstairs," he informed her, keeping his distance at the doorway.

All morning she had been rehearsing what she was to say, felt that she would burst if she had to stay quiet for a second longer. Perhaps if she let someone else know, in as many details as she was able to recount without shattering to pieces, then the sickening feeling that held her like a vice would cease, just for long enough to let her feel normal again.

She didn't know what had caused this sudden shift. Finding for herself that she had really changed before her eyes, probably.

"I can't do this, Frank," she said in a rush, her hands knitting together. "I'm scared. What will they think of me?" Her eyes went wide as she got to her feet, panic filling her. "They might not believe me."

A wave of relief washed over her when he came to her, holding out his hands to hers. She clutched onto his open fingers, believing that she'd never be able to let go of them again.

"They will believe you," he said calmly. "Nobody will think less of you. Believe me on that."

As weary as he looked, his shoulders held back stiff, he brought forth a little smile for her.

"You are strong, Kitty. And you'll be stronger still after this."

She looked into his eyes, forgetting for a moment that there was anyone else awaiting below. Really, she wanted to stay up here, just the two of them, shutting everyone and everything else out. But she knew it would do no good, not even to them in the long run.

"Stay with me?" she asked quietly, trying to sound stronger than she felt. If she couldn't manage it when they were alone, there didn't seem to be much hope.

He answered with a nod of his head and a light brush of his lips against her knuckles, making them turn a shade other than bright white for a few seconds.

He followed her faithfully as she departed, looking back at him for yet more reassurance before descending the staircase, one foot slow in front of the other.

The worst of it would be over soon enough.

Confessions left her broken, the one that followed her own entirely unexpected and causing agony unanticipated.

She sat on the bed feeling slightly numb, recounting what had not long gone, her heart still thumping against her chest and echoing in her ears. She'd feel glad that she did it, eventually, but for now those eyes staring into hers were burned into her, leaving her scorched and sick. And yet, she felt sad for most of them. Not _him_ , of course. They'd left with such hope and the promise of glory, and now they were living on the streets, livelihoods stripped away from them. Was it her fault? She hadn't stolen anyone's job. They would have had their families, surely. But they had been turned away from there, too. Perhaps what they had done hundreds of miles away had been too despicable. Unforgivable. Some things crossed a line and left scars too deep. And so they were left alone, maybe deservedly so.

Sobs began to leave her breathless, tears streaming down her cheeks. She had thought she had run dry for the day. As her shoulders shook, her spine strained and aching, she yearned for his touch upon her, to fall into his arms again. It'd all turn out to be a lie, some nightmare that she'd woken up from. This hurt was so much greater, overwhelming, leaving her heart crushed and her senses reeling.

She needed to be alone. If he was here she wasn't sure whether she'd give in to the love she needed or push away with the hate that had been stoked up within her. It would be misplaced, she was mainly sure of that. Everything was mixed up, running riot in her head. He'd said the very same day that she could believe him, and she never thought she could doubt that.

The harder she wept, she couldn't drown out the two warring voices in her head.

_He wasn't to know. How could he? You can see that he's sorry. You should go and find him. You can't get through the night on your own._

The other spoke louder, to her sorrow, shaking her head as she still couldn't make sense of it.

_He might not have known, but he knew what they were capable of. Getting them into that state. Pulling the trigger. Trust yourself. Because you can't trust anyone else._

She crawled across the covers, avoiding the red-eyed gaze that stared at her from the mirror. There was an empty space beside her, and despite her wishes, there grew a space widening in her heart.

A few days passed, and she froze when she heard the phone ring out. Frank's voice flowed easily, calling Mr Selfridge by his first name. He had that reluctant look on his face when he sat by her, having worn it almost permanently since the truth came out. Kitty hated that he sounded somewhat hollow to her.

"You don't have to," his hand went back to his lap when he saw that she inched away from him, yet again. "Harry would understand if it's too soon."

She looked at him properly, for the first time in days, for a second or two.

"It would do me good," she affirmed, standing and smoothing her skirt. "I have to get back to it sooner or later."

He went to say something, but his words died behind her as she walked away, moving towards the staircase. There was no time like the present, and this is what he wanted, after all. For her to get back to normal.

She returned to work, and she did feel better for it. She liked being busy, taking pride in rearranging the displays that had been neglected in her absence, wearing a smile that felt out of place initially though it grew a little more confident the longer she kept it pinned on. Connie's eyes watched her from across the shop floor, sending over smiles of her own and buoyant looks that kept her distracted from ones that were more curious.

The three of them sat at the dinner table each evening, and to anyone else it would seem no different. Connie filled in the silences with her chatter, which they all felt relieved for, for the most part. Though she kept her head down, focusing on the food on her plate which was taking too long to disappear, Kitty could feel Frank's eyes upon her, imploring, desperate for them to be met with hers. He waited in the hall every day for her to get home, giving her a small smile which faded each time she passed him without more than a couple of words.

The scrape of her chair on the floor bounced from the walls, her timing impeccable.

"You're not going again?" Connie piped up, glancing over to Frank whose face was impassive.

"I didn't get much sleep, I need to catch up in case I doze on the counter tomorrow." Her voice stayed deceptively light. "I'll see you in the morning."

"I'll be up in a bit," Frank sounded hopeful, looking up at her, though he didn't reach for her this evening, having had his fingers burned too many times.

Kitty nodded, the unfound words leaving her silent.

In their room she sat at the dresser, reassured that the bruising on her face was fading. She sighed as she reached for her bottle of hand cream, working the lotion over her fingers while her mind went elsewhere.

She paused when her other hand drifted over, adjusting the gold band that had slipped a little out of its place. Her eyes looked up to the mirror, judging her as slowly, she brought the ring easily over her knuckle. Her breath caught in her throat, and she stopped short of taking it off completely, though it was a few moments before she slid it back down to where it usually settled.

"You don't give up," she said to her reflection, her whole hand clamped around her third finger. "You didn't as a Hawkins, and you won't as a Edwards, either."

Whatever happened, she was the same person deep down, always willing to fight for what she had. _She had so much to fight for, really._ Nothing and nobody would change that.

He stopped trying with her. No longer would she find him sitting with a smile when she arrived back. Instead he cooped himself up in his makeshift study until the hour turned too late to write properly. Part of her was relieved. She would sit and read – or otherwise pretend to – while he turned out page after page. Every now and then she would hear him move about, half-hoping that tonight he might decide to take a break. That they might actually sit and talk instead of pretending there was no gulf between them, carrying on blindly.

Maybe they were always too alike.

Work was less of a refuge for her now, ever since that article made its way into the world. She couldn't fail to notice how people walked past the beauty counter, not before they stopped to stare and whisper. She tried her best not to look away, to look them in the eyes.

"I'm not sure there's much I can do, not anymore," he said low, looking away from her. _Was that a note of regret she heard?_ "It'll blow over. These things always do."

They hadn't wanted to tell her about the letters. Her stomach churned as she read each one, the words blurring before her though they still managed to lodge themselves deep. Mr Grove said something about more time away, at least until the fuss died down. She saw him and Mr Selfridge exchanging a worried look in front of her. The damage had already been done.

"Nobody can manage Beauty like I can," she uttered with as much confidence as she could muster. "The store is bigger than anyone. Isn't that right, Mr Selfridge?"

She was met with a small smile and a simple nod, but no words.

No one seemed to speak to her these days. Perhaps she had become too fragile that even they would wound her.

" _They're not going to charge me," he gave the words to her carefully, unsure of their consolation given all that had come between them._

_She breathed out, feeling angry still, but so thankful at the same time._

" _They said you've been through enough."_

_A tear rolled down her cheek, bathing her wound. She wiped it away quickly._

_For a fleeting moment, she glimpsed him from months ago. Years, even. He looked at her as though the world revolved around her, as if she held it in the very palm of her hand. He asked if she trusted him. She had given him a look in return, quite certain that she didn't have to say for him to be sure._

_He sat next to her, and she felt surprised by the fact. The gap between them had grown so wide._

" _I'll be here for you now." He sounded very sure, if somewhat distant. "Whenever you need me."_

_She wanted to believe the truth in those words, with all her heart, smiling a little more easily as she looked him in the eyes._

She'd asked for words rather than silence, and the ones he had given stung her more than any blow.

* * *

This night was different. She'd heard it from the way he came back in, locking the door quietly and with soft footsteps up the stairs. She couldn't smell the alcohol on him tonight, and that made her feel at ease. He'd never get drunk, but the fact that she knew he had been drinking at all had caused her to seize up, heart sunken with disappointment.

She had slept for a short while he'd been out, peacefully. There were no figures chasing her in the dark, no screams tumbling from her throat. They'd left her in peace tonight, but god knows when they would be back.

She shifted a little in the bed as it bore his weight, watching the fingers of one hand thread at his tie. His other rested on the covers, near enough but still out of her reach.

"It's quiet," he noted, exhaling as he unclipped his cufflinks. "Where's your sister?"

"She went to visit our parents," she answered. "I thought I told you that."

He looked vaguely troubled, stretching his arms out as he stood.

"You probably did."

He put his jacket back into the wardrobe, followed by his waistcoat, hanging them up with precision. Everything seeming in its place.

"Connie won't be leaving," she said sharply, a reflex.

He turned, meeting her eyes that blazed rather than became ice.

"Not any time soon. I won't have it."

"Of course not," came his immediate reply, appearing slightly shocked that she should even have to think otherwise.

The tick of the clock upon the wall accompanied their stilted exchanges, Kitty charting the seconds as they moved by, working up the courage steadily. Frank stalled in undressing, standing by the bedside and watching her instead. His mouth opened, left in hesitation for too long before closing again.

She felt his look keenly, thinking perhaps that she should write the words for a change. He hadn't stopped writing, even since the call had come to say that it was no longer necessary, at least not in this case. His notepads sat on the side of the table downstairs, pen resting over the top like a lock and key. She had been tempted to look inside, intrigued by what he could possibly be finding to say. She was too uncertain, and it was a feeling that didn't sit well with her. There had been enough betrayal within their walls to add yet more.

"I shouldn't have behaved the way I did the other night."

She closed her eyes momentarily as she listened to him, wanting to forget just as she had tried to ever since.

Her gaze met with his again sooner than she expected, the pained expression etched upon his face.

"The things I said were..." He cast a net about, usual powers failing him. "Unfortunate."

While he winced, a jolt ran through her too. _That was one way of putting it_. They both knew it wasn't quite right, or at the least, Kitty hoped. The problem was mere hope swiftly wasn't enough.

She swallowed hard, her arms folded against her. He looked rather lost, hands stuffed into his pockets, and defiantly she decided she wasn't going to be the one to save him. Yet there was something more at hand.

"You sounded quite sure at the time," she said, a sharp edge to her tone. She wasn't willing to be hurt again, although what she was about to say cut her deep. "It sounded as if you had rather never married me. Then neither of us would be in this mess."

"Kitty..." He tried her name on his lips again, suddenly aware of the absence of her. He sat on the bed once more.

She glanced towards the ceiling, tipping the tears back from her eyes. "Maybe we should have left things the way they were. It seemed to suit us better."

Dancing, laughing, playing. She wasn't a silly girl with her head-in-the-clouds. She knew life wasn't all about the good times.

She had fallen in love with Frank Edwards, a long time ago now. She had looked past his faults and loved him more for them. When she answered yes to his proposal, promised herself to him for always, she had been certain that they would be able to see through everything together, united as one. As it seemed to have turned, they'd fallen at the first hurdle, even if fate had been crueller than she had ever imagined.

"No," He was the one to be defiant now, and she looked at him again, drawing a deep breath when she saw how steady his gaze upon her was. "Of anything I've done, you've been the best by far."

She sniffed as his head dipped in front of her, his hands picking at the covers upon their bed.

"I was being a child. You think I'd be used to rejection by now."

He sighed at his attempt at being light, the awkwardness not lifted from the situation. It would take a while yet.

Silence stretched out again, even if it had brought them a little closer than before. She was ready to turn over towards the wall, at least satisfied that they'd taken a step forward rather than several steps back.

"The truth is, I don't know how to cope," he admitted, his voice concealing a tremble. "I never have."

She read him easier now, feeling part of the weight that had been pressing upon her lift.

Her palm lay open upon the bed, and she shivered when he lightly traced his fingers over her skin.

"You're so much stronger than I am, Kitty. That's always been true."

"I don't feel very strong at the moment," she said, watching how his face shadowed.

How much she wanted to get past this, how she wanted to simply shake it all away with a toss of her hair and a fresh coat of lipstick. It wasn't that easy, and neither was anything worth holding onto.

Neither of them could get through this alone.

"I don't expect you to always know what to say. I can fight my own battles." She looked down at their hands, tentative, barely skimming the surface. "I just want to know that you're on my side."

He looked into her eyes, seeing underneath for what felt like the first time since that night they'd been trying too hard to forget.

They could learn together.

"I'm always on your side," he uttered softly, his voice barely reaching her ears even though she felt it in her heart.

He took his hand from hers, leaving her cold for a few moments, only to return with a greater touch, lacing her fingers tight with his. Their palms kissed as their lips had forgotten how to.

Kitty smiled, feeling a genuine wave of happiness.

There would be words to come, ones that weren't uncertain or untrue, said out of fear or preservation. For now, they didn't matter.

His arms were open to her, and she slipped into them easily.

For now, she was home, with the love she felt and had half-forgotten no longer a stranger.

* * *

She fixed her hat into place, looping her purse into the crook of her arm. It seemed customary for her to hold a breath before she left for the evening now, but she was getting better and quicker at releasing it.

"Good night, Miss Mardle," she called out to the lone figure on the shop floor as she made to go.

"Mrs Edwards," the voice behind her returned, "I can walk out with you if you would like? I should only be about five minutes at most."

Kitty turned and smiled towards her former mentor. "I'll be fine. But thank you for the offer, Miss Mardle. Just promise me you won't stay too late either."

"Oh, don't worry, I certainly have no intention of that." The older woman gave her a warm smile. "Have a good night, Mrs Edwards."

When she stepped out into the night, still light enough to make her feel safe, she was rather surprised to find him waiting for her, eyes smiling from beneath the brim of his hat.

Some might say it was _too little, too late_ , but she didn't dwell on that sort of thinking. She wouldn't, not to keep believing.

"You didn't need to come," she said, pushing back just a little bit as she took the arm he offered her, setting them off strolling in the direction of home.

He smiled at the small spark that had struck up within her again. "I know I didn't need to, but I wanted to."

Kitty smiled in return, feeling a foolish sort of blush singe her cheeks. "How was your day?" she asked him, deflecting the conversation.

"Long," he admitted quietly.

"You'll find something soon," she gave a small squeeze to his arm, a sense of déjà vu striking her.

He turned to her with a small smile, not arguing.

"I thought perhaps I might edit the book. It wasn't finished anyway, but the story has changed now."

An anxiety stirred within her, one that he was quick to catch and soothe.

"Not about you, darling," he reassured. "I've scrapped all of those notes, torn them to bits. I should have done it weeks ago."

"But you shouldn't do that _for_ me, either," she said, leaning on him a bit more. "People should know the truth."

He shook his head, lowering it to the ground briefly before meeting her eyes again.

"Not like that. Maybe it's for the best if I leave it alone."

She observed him closely as he turned thoughts over in his head. Perhaps he was right, and she had no wish to add fuel to the fire. Their conversation was going so well that she didn't want to rake everything up, but she maintained that if anything else were to come she wouldn't hide away but instead would confront it head on with the strength she had built up. With his support, she was more sure of now.

He stopped them before they had got to the end of the street, raising her hand to his mouth and laying a small kiss upon her skin.

"Let's not bother about me," he exclaimed. "I want to know all about the world of Beauty." She let out a little laugh at the exaggeration in his tone. "What new things have come into your possession today? In other words, what else do I need to get rid of to make some extra space?"

"Nothing in particular," she said, a little more lightness in her heart, reflected in the small bounce of her step. She tightened her grip on his hand, feeling the better for looking into his eyes.

For tonight, the shadows were chased away.

"What would you like then?" Frank persisted, pulling her out of her daydream.

She relaxed her shoulders, meeting his gaze measure for measure.

"I would like for us to go home," she uttered, with as much softness as confidence. "And not think about the world outside. Not until we have to, anyway."

He tucked her arm back with his, and she was glad that he'd come to meet her after all. It might not have seemed like the greatest gesture to anyone else, but to her it meant the world.

"That sounds perfect, Mrs Edwards," he replied, rounding her name with a smile.

And for that moment, for that night, things started to look closer to that.


End file.
